


Thursday's Child

by Crown_of_Winterthorne



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Mama Loki, NorseKink Meme, Post-Avengers (2012), Prompt Fill, Sleipnir is more than he seems, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-18
Updated: 2016-02-18
Packaged: 2018-05-21 10:49:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6048669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crown_of_Winterthorne/pseuds/Crown_of_Winterthorne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Originally posted on the NorseKink LJ in August 2012 as part of the NorseKink Meme on LJ. </p><p><b>Prompt:</b> “Sleipnir has the ability to shift into Aesir form, something only Loki, Heimdall and Odin know. He doesn’t find it very comfortable and some of the social/cultural norms are confusing to him in Aesir shape, but sometimes it’s the only way to get things done, to get information  or sneak some of the sticky, sweet baked goods out of the royal kitchen or embrace his mother after he thought him dead.“</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thursday's Child

**Author's Note:**

> Original prompt [here](http://norsekink.livejournal.com/9985.html?thread=21157889#t21157889) I never was brave enough to de-anon on LJ (under a very different username), but I've always liked this piece of sugar-sweet fluff. I was going through a fluffy phase and simply adored any representation of Mama Loki and Sleipnir.
> 
> Title is from the David Bowie song.

The Nine Realms were strange and Asgard perhaps the strangest of them all.  Yet when one of the crown princes birthed an eight-legged horse. . .  well, even Asgard was a bit surprised.  Fast forward a few human centuries and that same horse was his own grandfather’s war horse.  
  
Even stranger, his brothers were a snake and a wolf, but that’s another story.  
  
Sleipnir: the fastest, strongest horse in all of the Nine Realms.  He was faithful, brave and strangely beautiful.  He also had a secret:  when he wanted to be, Sleipnir was also a darling little boy.

Sleipnir was his mother’s son in more ways than anyone could have expected.  In his Aesir form, he could use magick, though he wasn’t very good at it.   He could shapeshift and become  a child, a handsome youth or an old man.  He could even take on some of his mother’s Jotund aspects.  He wasn’t talented enough to imitate anyone nor could he switch his gender.  That he most often took the form of a child proved that he didn’t much care. Magick meant complications and keeping his form secret was already complicated enough.  
  
Grandfather knew.  Heimdall knew.  They knew everything.  Neither liked it, but because he never caused trouble in his Aesir forms, Odin allowed it.  Mother knew too and he was proud of his brilliant child.  If it had been up to Mother, Sleipnir would have been trained up as a proper magician.  
  
For his part, Sleipnir was _glad_ that he wasn’t allowed to be part of the golden Asgardian court.  It was simpler that way, and simplicity was good for a demigod horse.  
  
Despite his lot in life as the Allfather’s war horse, Sleipnir was treated well.  He had his own stables, the best foods, gentle grooms and a self-awareness that the other horses lacked.  Yet every so often, he would grow restless.  The wind would change, carrying with it the scent of the court’s bakery.  Slepnir liked sweet things and had learned early on that his Aesir form liked them too.  The wonderful warm smells of honey, sugar, cinnamon and stewed berries taunted him.  
  
Sweet sticky buns.  
  
Wildberry tarts.  
  
Honeycakes.  
  
Prancing with delight, Sleipnir glanced about for his grooms and upon seeing that the coast was clear, he transformed himself.  Where a great black charger had stood, now there was a little boy of about six or seven.  He had his mother’s dark hair, pale skin and blue-green eyes.  He was long of limb and fair of face, and truthfully, he might be described as gangly.  It was awfully hard to compact his eight-legged muscle into a tiny, humanoid form and not look like an overgrown puppy.  
  
He clothed himself with magic- if he didn’t do it now, he might forget and that was always awkward to explain- and opened the stall door.  It was too high to reach, but with a little concentration, he opened it with his magick.  
  
Freedom!  
  
Giggling, his cheeks dimpled, Sleipnir ran down the stable corridor.  He was a bit awkward on his long, coltish legs- only two instead of eight!- and nearly tripped and fell on his face twice before he reached the early morning sunshine.  
  
Sleipnir breathed deeply, eyes bright.  Somehow, Asgard was always more beautiful to his Aesir eyes.  The buildings gleamed, the flowers were more vivid and the waters sparkled beneath the rising sun.  
  
The spicy-sweet smells from the kitchens caught him again and with his silky hair bouncing, Sleipnir ran up the path to the palace.

***  
  
He was still being punished.  Father- despite it all, he was still Father- had allowed him his voice and minor magicks after Thor pleaded with the old man.  Healing magicks and parlour tricks!  He was reduced to a nursemaid or court jester!  
  
Thor needed to learn when to keep _his_ mouth shut.  
  
Still. . .  the freedom to roam the palace- most of it- was nice.  One did get tired of staring at the same four walls.  Well, he _did_ have a suite of rooms, but the sentiment was still the same.  Dungeon or fine suites, it was all the same when one was forbidden to leave.  
  
The courtiers avoided him more than ever now.  Even if it hadn’t been for his recent…  misadventures.  They knew the truth of him now.   Jotund.  Monster.  
  
He heard their whispers and in the back of his mind, he kept a list.  Gods forbid he should ever have his full power back, because they would pay.  Slowly and dearly, they would pay.  He would-  
  
The child caught his attention, drawing his dark thoughts away and replacing them with curiosity.  He knew the boy- indeed, how could he not know those familiar features?- and the handful of sweet pastries was not a surprise.  Nor was the yelling of Cook, who chased the boy out, brandishing a wooden spoon.  
  
“Boy!  Come here!” Loki called, waving the woman away.  
  
“Now you’ve done it,” she scolded the child, pleased.  "I’ve warned you before about stealing food meant for th’ court!“  
  
She cuffed him, missing the dark look in the Prince’s eyes, and left them alone in the corridor.  She could regret touching the boy, but not now. Not yet.  
  
But she was on the list.  
  
"What have I told you?” Loki sighed, kneeling down to his son’s level.  He tried unsuccessfully to smooth the boy’s wild black hair.  
  
“Don’t get caught?”  
  
“Try again.”  
  
Sleipnir grinned, his blush endearing.  "Make sure to get a raspberry tart for you?“  
  
"That’s my boy,” he nodded.  "And don’t get caught.“  
  
"I’m sorry.”  The smiled faded into instant sadness.  Tears filled Sleipnir’s eyes and he bit his lip.  "Don’t be mad at me.“  
  
Few things penetrated the wall Loki had carefully built around his heart, but he could never bear to see Sleipnir unhappy.  The child had so little control over his emotions in this form.  
  
"Of course not,” he gathered the boy into his arms.  He was so pure and his love unconditional.  "I’m never mad at you, my darling.  Never.“  
  
"Promise?” Sleipnir wrapped his arms around his dam, sticky hands winding into silk fabric and soft hair.    
  
No one ever hugged him.  He had seen other horses hugged about the neck by their riders or even children and maidens.  He had seen the children of the court embraced by family, loved and protected.  He had even seen the warriors embrace each other in friendship and love.  
  
No one ever hugged him except for Mother.  Mother’s arms were strong and safe. For all his power, sometimes what the war horse wanted more than anything was to be a child, buried in that embrace.  
  
Mother smiled and stroked his cheek.  "Come.  Let’s clean you up and I’ll teach you again how to sneak into the kitchens without being seen.“  
  
He nodded eagerly, laughing with delight as Mother stood, sweeping him up into his arms.  Sleipnir held tight and let himself be carried.  
  
Sometimes…  it was very, very good to be Sleipnir.  



End file.
